It was as essential to an old garret like this as violets in spring or sweetness in a girl's face.

The chest was open.

With a low whistle of delight Kenny peered inside and thought of the ferryman in her quaint brocade.

The chest was full to the brim of old-time gowns, glints of faded satin and yellowed lace, buckled slippers and old brocade.
"Mr.O'Neill!" Kenny wheeled, his face scarlet with guilt and confusion.

Joan was beside him, her startled eyes dark with reproach.